Twenty year's ago Peter Hone spotted three Coadestone plaques stuck on the facade of 86 Camberwell Road in the process of being cleaned and unsuccessfully approached the owner with a view to taking casts. On a recent drive-by Hone noticed that scaffolding was up yet again, and this time made a successful approach to make moulds of all three reclining classical ladies.
 
Eleanor Coade's standard size for plaques was four feet by two feet, in order to fit in modular fashion with the Lambeth manufactory's other architectural embellishments. These plaques are reputed to come from the house in Camberwell Grove (demolished in the 1890s) belonging to Dr John Coakley Lettsom, a very wealthy physician and Quaker, who patronised Coade because 'it is of British growth'.
 
In his 1933 biography of Lettsom, James Abraham wrote:
Lettsom was very fond of tablets in artificial stone. They were made at Mrs Coade's factory in Lambeth; and the designs were those of his friend John Bacon R.A.
 
The three plaques personified Liberality, Plenty and Flora.
 
A contemporary poem was written by George Hardinge about Lettsom and his Coade:
 
Camberwell Grove - A celebrated Villa, the Rural or Suburban Titsculum of Dr. John Coakley Lettsom, described in a very sublime and a very long Poem.
 
No wonder ******* wrote so well,
Inspir'd by Lettsom's dinner-bell
But I, who never touch'd his meat,
Am not the wiser for his treat
 
A patent's fame on Mrs. Coade
Has a monopoly bestow'd.
The marble and the native stone
At her command their claim disown;
A manufactur'd composition
Smiles on the Patriot and Physician;
Medallions breathe in plaister's art,
And, spread on brick, their taste impart;
Adorn'd with Latin or with Greek,
They moralize throughout the week ;- -
Unless in heat, or damp, or frost,
A letter flees, a name is lost;- -
Or in the allegoric tale,
A feature, head, or limb, should fail.
 
But what appendages are these
Against his bushes and his trees?
What stuccoed life takes refuge here,
And clings with epileptic fear?
Again- -'tis Art with Nature stow'd,
And Michael Angelo- -in Coade.
 
Three Ladies represent the Fates
A fourth mysterious doubt creates;
For, as the shears to cut prepare,
She binds the hands that none can spare.
An allegory so refin'd
That it could never be divin'd,
Unless the Gardener, for his fee,
Had lent me Doctor Lettsom's key,
And whisper'd with an air of stealth,
It was the Doctor's whim for Health- -
Not like a Hermit, or a Hindoo,
But under Lettsom's parlour window:
A hint, perhaps- -we thank him for't- -
That lives intemperate are short.
But no such dampers ******** found;
The table smok'd- -the healths went round.
As to these Fates, he sat behind 'em,
Or thought a Poet should not mind 'em;
For, after this convivial proem,
He took his quill, and wrote his poem.
And what are these, in gay disorder?
Two heads coquetting in a border!
A Tully's and a Zingras bust,
With shells in moss and fern are thrust;
As if they grew in moss and fern,
But claim'd with bodies no concern!
Or, sever'd by a guillotine,
Could still at Camberwell be seen;- -
Or sprout, at Lettsom's call, for us,
Like onion or asparagus.
 
A comely Bona-roba next
The musing Pilgrim's eye perplex'd;
For Contemplation is her name,
And yet she covets public fame;
She's not in ambush, like a mouse,
But full in view of Lettsom's house.
 
Then all the sexes of Linneaus,
Proud in their best array to see us,
Inventing Flora's wreaths of taste,
And with botanic links embrac'd,
Where species, to their genus true,
Are led by King at Arms to view,
As Nobles at a Coronation
Observe the ranks of their creation.
With labels white their names are told,
As if to be retail'd and sold.
Perhaps allusions here may drop
To an Apothecary's shop.
 
But I forgot - - oh, come and see 'em- -
"The wonders of the fam'd Museum
For want of a poetic name,
Let Whim heivitcttd inscribe its fame!
Here Scipio's tomb- -there Indian spears- -
Or a new water-work appears.
Its Gallery the view commands
Of smoke and buildings, more than lands;
All Greenwich and the London Shipping
Before the raptur'd eye are skipping.
 
But now we come to depth of shade,
Where Solitude her bed has made;
A weeping willow's dripping hair
Shuns the gay beam, secluded there:
As if a Nymph, by Fauns unseen,
Was bathing in a lake tureen;
And, stript of petticoat or hoop,
Could swim or dive in rich pea-soup;
For yellow-jaundicd is the lake,
And courtly weeds that colour take.
 
In front of these an open shed,
With Shakespeare's trunk as well as head;
He looks alive, and looks about him:
But when you see that scroll, you doubt him;
For, though he's dress'd in water-tabby,
That sheet of papers from the Abbey *,
Above support, and self-sustain'd,
His equilibrium is retain'd;
 
And Will, who seems half-tumbling down,
Shines in his artificial gown;
For Nature's child would never last,
Unless in robe like this new-cast.
Two venerable Griffins guard
From wind and rain the careless Bard.
A Sea-Nymph, stuck upon a pole,
Spurts from her shell into a bowl
A fountain that preserves its tether
If, thanks to Heaven, it's rainy weather.
But Coade, in lemon colour glaz'd,
The Mermaid from her billows rais'd;
Though, lest in hunger we should pine,
A hint appears that we may dine,
Where full in sight the rails and stables
Allure the eye to parlour tables.
 
But Hospitality's not full
If one alone the cork should pull;
And famish'd Bards, if Smith forgets 'em,
Have a good chance of Doctor Lettsom.
Aside from being a doctor, connoisseur, abolitionist, sea-bather and philanthropist, Lettsom also had a droll sense of humour and wrote this pithy epigram:
 
John Lettsom,
Physics, bleeds and sweats 'em.
If, after that, they please to die,
I, John Lettsom.
He also wrote 'The Natural History of the Tea Tree' (by which he means China tea bush, not the Australian 'Tea-Tree') with observations on the medical qualities and effects of tea drinking. One of the plaques, 'Liberality', has foliage which looks similar to an illustration of the tea-tree in his book.